Blood and Roses
by MurderousPen
Summary: Yes, that will become my new motto. My new mantra, to keep me going, when nothing else could. I kill Snow. I kill Snow. Because I know that I will be the death of President Coriolanus Snow - one way or another.
1. Prologue

**So, I'm not really sure where this ficlet idea came from. Anyway, it's just a little idea that popped up in my head, and I decided to run with it.**

**I own absolutely nothing, and I never will. **

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><p>Today was my day. I would exact vengeance on the man that I really and truly hated. The man that made my life hell since they day my sister was chosen. Today would be the day that President Snow would rise to fall no more. Maybe his precious roses would cover the scent of his decay. Blood and roses for him, even in death. I can't help but think, however, that this punishment is too good for him. He put me - and countless others - through such brutal, horrible things, and all he would get was an arrow through the heart, delivered by me. I wanted so much more than his death, though. I wanted his blood, running in rivulets down his flesh, seeping from the multiple wounds that would be delivered in the most cruel ways I could imagine. I wanted his blood to be sprayed on the walls, in puddles on the floor, as President Snow finally lost his colour. I wanted to watch him scream and struggle as he was injected with tracker jacker venom, and hallucinated. I wanted to see him face the Hunger Games, with all those muttations he helped invent throughout the years. The mutts from the 74th Hunger Games, the ones with the eyes from the dead tributes. The orange-furred monkeys from the Quarter Quell. The jabberjays, projecting the sounds of his family's misery and anguish. I wanted to watch him thirst. I wanted to watch him starve. I wanted to watch him waste away, until his ribs showed through, just as mine and Peeta's did. I wanted to watch him die in the most painful, horrible way imaginable.<p>

Was I beginning to think like Snow was, for wanting this? Was I beginning to lust for blood, as the Capitol did? Somehow, I couldn't bring myself to think so. I wanted this, not just for my own selfish reasons, but for my family. For Prim. For Greasy Sae, and Haymitch, and Peeta, and Gale, and District Twelve, and everyone else that had been under the Capitol's reign. I wanted this for the other tributes, both dead and alive, that they may have vengeance for what they were put through. I wanted this for Rue, and her family. I wanted this for those who died, past and present.

I wanted this for Panem.

As I raised my bow and took aim at that pristine rose positioned right over his heart, he starts speaking to me with that snake-like tongue, using his silver words. Unfortunately, however, I knew these soft-spoken silver words were true. For once in his life, President Snow wasn't lying. So I did something incredibly brave, and incredibly stupid. I shifted my aim. I killed President Coin. I can't bring myself to regret her death, either. Deep down, I think a part of me knew she deserved it.

Then, the crowd goes insane, and before I realize it, Snow is gone. All that's left in his wake is that white rose, a single drop of blood on one of it's once-pristine petals.

Blood and roses, once again.

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><p><strong>Reviews are like Finnick Odair in his underwear. :)<strong>


	2. Let the Games Begin

**As I said before, I own absolutely nothing. This is just a little idea I had, and I wanted to see how it would turn out.**

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><p>I was burning. Every fibre in my body was on fire. Every nerve was being scorched. Every muscle was being charred. The meat on my bones was being burned. I was burning. It seemed rather ironic, for the Girl on Fire to be burning like this. I should be setting the fires, watching others being burned, instead of the fire being started on me, and me being burned. Then again, would that really be fair? Would it be right, to hurt others? To make them feel the flames that licked my body, incinerating my flesh? Then again, what was truly right anymore?<p>

Strangely, it seemed that the line between right and wrong had been severely blurred, if not erased completely, since my sister's name had been drawn, and I had volunteered.

That didn't matter now, because my sister was dead, my mother had left, and I was still burning. I had been smouldering since Prim had been blown up. Her small, fragile-looking body blown to the heavens as the parachutes descended. However, when I shot Coin, I became a live wire. Something had ignited deep within, something primal. Something instinctive, like I knew that I had done the right thing. I was satisfied, and the fire was pleasant. A warm blanket, encompassing me as I braved the trampling crowd. It felt right, natural even. For the first time in a very, very long time, I felt alive. I felt alive and vibrant.

Then, I realized that one person, the one person that I really and truly hated, had escaped. The one that was originally set to be executed. President Snow was gone, and all that was left behind was a white rose with a single drop of blood staining one of the pristine petals. Strangely, no one had trodden on the flower-that-was-not-a-flower. Almost as if it was a poison to be avoided at all cost. Strangely, it seemed like Snow himself.

I hated that rose.

Everything after that was a blur, a rush. The only thing I clearly remember was being taken into a room, Peeta holding my hand, reassuring me that everything would be alright as a sedative was pumped into my arm. The next time I woke, I realized that Peeta was gone - the boy with the bread had left me again. Was he slipping away once more, after I had gotten him back? Was he turning away from me, even after he had been un-hijacked? Was he leaving me, even after he promised he would stay with me always?

My heart beat out a rapid tattoo against my chest, and I gasped for air as my mind whirled, trying to understand these concepts. It seemed so foreign to me, a world where Peeta didn't love me. Perhaps I was being selfish, and was used to his love? Or perhaps I loved him back, and I realized that a world without Peeta isn't really a world at all. Deep down inside, I know my answer, but I don't want to think about it. I want to block it off, shut it out, just like I wanted to shut out the rest of the world. I wanted it all to go away, even though I knew I'd have to face it one day. I wanted everything to flee from my mind, save for the image of Snow and his roses. Why would I focus on such a grotesque, horrible thing? Because I want to focus on my main target, my main goal. My mind reaches back into what seems like so long ago, and brings something to the forefront of my thoughts. Words, scrawled on a bit of paper. Words that I would have to make my only focus, if I were to stay sane after the whole ordeal with Peeta, Gale, Prim, and my mother.

_I KILL SNOW_.

Yes, that will become my new motto. My new mantra, to keep me going, when nothing else could. I kill Snow. I kill Snow. At some point, I realize I must've started saying this out loud, at which point, another sedative was injected into my bloodstream. Before I am dragged under by the drugs, I wonder briefly how they got there so quickly after I started muttering. Where they already there, watching me as I lay there, unable to move for the pain that ricocheted through my joints and muscles. Or where they watching me from somewhere else? First and foremost, who were they? Before I could answer any of my questions - or at least rationalize them - I was being dragged down into the murky depths of sleep.

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><p>After I wake, everything is still the same blur, except for one thing. I am pardoned for killing the "President", Coin. Peeta has not left me. No, he is there with me, holding my hand, comforting me. His thumb rubs soothing circles over the flesh of my hand, and I allow Peeta to break into my mantra.<p>

I kill Snow. I protect Peeta. I love Peeta. I kill Snow. I protect Peeta. I love Peeta.

'I love Peeta' wasn't really necessary, as I already loved him so much my heart hurt. Look at me - I'm confronting one of the very things that I had tried to put off. I loved him so much that a world without Peeta wouldn't be a world at all. I would be existing, and not living. With Peeta, I could breathe freely, even with whatever gasses or particles were in the air. With Peeta, I was more at ease that I was without him. Yes, I loved the boy with the bread. There was one problem, though, that kept me from enjoying my newfound, partial, not really freedom.

I was still burning.

I was still being consumed by that intense fire that threatened to take over my being. It engulfed me completely now, making my skin crawl and my head hurt. Even as I look into Peeta's blue eyes that remind me so much of water, it can't quench the burn. If anything, it makes it worse. It reminds me of the salt water that we encountered during the Quarter Quell. Instead of soothing my wounds, making the flames recede, it makes them rise higher, makes me burn worse. It nearly suffocates me, and I have to look away, but even then it doesn't stop. Apparently, the change was permanent.

The worst part was that the flames weren't visible. They were there, sure as anything - it's just they weren't palpable in reality. In my mind, however, I was completely consumed in a burning fire. When I told Peeta about this, he gave a funny little laugh, and I glared at him. This wasn't amusing, not to me. This was painful, and it only served to remind me that the Girl on Fire deal was still being used against me. Just the other day, I had turned on the television, mainly to escape the bout of boredom that I had been experiencing, and what I saw made my insides freeze, though the fire raged on.

It was Prim's smiling face, plastered on the screen. Then, she was shown racing on the battlefield, tending to wounded rebels and even a few of the Capitol's innocents - if there were such a thing. The voice-over was done by Caesar Flickerman, telling of how brave little Primrose Everdeen, not even fourteen yet, had been one of the most valuable on the first aid teams, and how she would even train to become a doctor at one point in time. I felt something warm and wet slide down my cheek, and it took me a moment to recognize it as a tear. Before more could fall, however, the scene on the television was rapidly changing. Prim was lying on one of the Capitol's cobblestone streets, blood streaming from the multitude of wounds that marred her form. Then, the camera was drawn back as another blast shook the town, and Prim was blasted to the heavens, nothing left but her ashes as they floated back down. The Girl on Fire's sister has been burned, was what someone had cleverly come up with.

More tears streamed down my cheeks, and the ice that had frozen my innards quickly turned into more of the consuming fire that I had grown to know as natural. I slammed my hand down on the button that controls the television, and the screen quickly flickered off. There was no more sadness now - only raw, unadulterated rage. As I stormed into my quarters in District Thirteen, I can't help but wonder when they'll start rebuilding District Twelve. It was promised to me, even though there was no actual president at the time. Nonetheless, I had led a rebellion, and saved Panem from the horrors of President Snow's Capitol, and that at least merited something. We had plenty of work force on our side now, and the foundations were already being laid. Still, I don't think District Twelve's resurrection could occur fast enough for my likings. I hated it hear, in my underground bunker, being sheltered from the sunlight. I am a caged animal, just like I was in District Twelve. I am a caged animal, just like I was in the Hunger Games. I am a caged animal, just like I was in the Quarter Quell. I am a caged animal - I don't know if I will ever be freed. But somehow, I must think of a way to be free. I must find a way to escape my cage, with Peeta in tow, if he'll come. I have to track down President Snow, and kill him.

Then again, why not have a little fun with him first? After all, he had made my life absolutely miserable ever since I was on the tribute train to the Capitol for my first Hunger Games. Don't I deserve to play a little too?

Let the Games begin, Coriolanus Snow.

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><p><strong>Reviews are like Katniss singing 'The Hanging Tree' for the Mockingjays! <strong>


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